


Dear Husband

by pridecookies



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, Comfort Reading, Fluff, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:42:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28357962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pridecookies/pseuds/pridecookies
Summary: Sometimes two mages just need to be married and be happy.
Relationships: Anders/Hawke (Dragon Age), Anders/Male Hawke
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Dear Husband

There was a familiar stir, a stretch, a purring sound. Malcolm groaned as the cat nuzzled closer, taking over their bed as it often did. All  _ four  _ of them. Anders was asleep, blonde hair sprawled out over his pillow, wheat tousled on white. He curled closer into Malcolm’s side, smacking his lips with sleep as he did, nuzzling slightly. Malcolm was caught in the middle of the cat and cat enthusiast, both too content to be stirred. He laughed to himself, quietly, deep in his chest. 

_ Anders, I swear to the Maker. _

When he went to Adamant, Anders found another cat and proceeded to bring it home. Malcolm had initially said no, Anders sulked slightly, he relented immediately. Naturally, Anders would find another cat, this one with a broken leg. He could never turn away anything that was lost, that needed a home. Birds, cats, small rodents, rabbits, apostates on the road. They would be injured and he would hold a hand out to heal them. That was who Anders was, all kindness and eagerness to help. It’s why Malcolm loved him so much that it was all encompassing.

Running a hand through chaotic brown hair, his left hand still felt unsure in the silver wrapped around his ring finger. It wasn’t Anders he was unsure of, it was himself. He had stopped questioning if he was good enough years ago, actively. Subconsciously, he struggled. Marriage was a public declaration of permanence. Telling the world he thought he was good enough and he didn’t know how to declare it the way a trumpeter would a war cry, even if loving Anders  _ was  _ a war cry. Loving him was the ragged, desperate call before diving into the chaos that being with him would bring. It was a chaos he loved, a chaos he wanted, a chaos that unmade him in a way that he couldn’t live without. Anders wanted to get married and Malcolm refused to not give him anything and everything he desired, even in silence. He deserved that much.

The healer was so surprised when he asked, that was the thing that broke him. How shocked he was. It reminded Malcolm of what he used to say, when they were on the road, when the initial thrill of the early moments of inescapable ache for the touch of each other had dimmed. Granted, it  _ barely _ dimmed. Malcolm still felt that way, all the time. Anders would be sitting in their room, reading a book, and find his book suddenly tossed on the floor and lips on his in desperation. It would always be that way for Malcolm. Anders was a light that would never go out and he would seek it in the dark. Always.

It was the way Anders was confused that he stayed at all that rekindled his need over and over and over again. Every question of  _ Why me? _ in his eyes made Malcolm burn with the same fire that drove Anders to courage in Kirkwall. He needed him to understand how loved he was _. _ He wanted to show him all the reasons he stayed, why he couldn’t leave even if he tried.

_ I never thought you would still be with me _ , Anders had said. The audacity.

Sitting in the kitchen, working on an alchemy project, his gaze was focused on the papers in front of him, scribbling away. Malcolm stepped quietly behind him in bare feet with a cat in his arms. He set the cat down, kissed Anders’ hair, and asked him what he was working on. He let the healer wax poetic about elfroot and he knelt on the floor next to him, listening silently. Anders stopped talking after a moment when he noticed Malcolm’s expression. Adoration. Pure, unadulterated adoration. But serious.

_ What is it, love? _

Malcolm had smiled, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes and took Anders’ hand in his. Breathing deeply, he rested the other on his face and marveled in silence. It had been a difficult year, the way it was in Kirkwall when his mother died. Facing every horror. Adamant, the Wardens, the Calling, Corypheus and the mage rebellion, his time at Skyhold. What he say in the Fade, the family he couldn't reclaim. The memory lingered, the pain acute. The burden of Kirkwall's aftermath was so present to him now, in a way it wasn't before.  It was a new weight he was learning to walk with, letting his body adjust to the change, feeling its heaviness and shifting as was necessary to live with it. Something about facing what he couldn’t have compounded the intensity of how much he needed what he did have. The warm, tangible, beautiful, wonderful, complicated, confounding, lovely thing that he had. This mage, this man, this brave revolutionary, this healer with bloody hands. So, calm and sure and without trembling, he asked Anders the question.

_ Do you want to get married now? About time I think.  _

Anders had looked horrified, tears welled up in his eyes and he shook his head rapidly. Not in rejection but more because he couldn’t fathom it, he didn’t understand.

_ You don’t want to do this, you know I could ruin your life. The Calling, Justice, the Chantry… _

Malcolm had laid his hands on his face, forcing Anders to look at him, his expression serious.

_ Anders, my life is only ruined if you aren’t in it. That is the only way you could ruin it. I love you. _

And that was it. He kissed him, he cried, the cat jumped on the table and interrupted the moment, Anders laughed with joy that was unafraid and it was the most beautiful sound Malcolm had ever heard. They didn’t get married in a Chantry, they couldn’t. They were Chantry criminals, after all. In the eyes of the Maker, maybe they weren’t married. In the eyes of the legal system or the clerics, maybe  _ husband  _ wasn’t the applicable term. They didn’t care. It wasn’t about that. It was about a declaration.

Now, bathed in sunlight as he so often was, Anders curled next to him and Malcolm was so sure of the peace he found, his celestial body that he circled with grace. He leaned down, moving the cat, and kissed Anders’ forehead and brows and eyes and nose and the healer smiled as he woke. Malcolm’s lips hovered above his a moment before kissing him in greeting, a grin on his face. 

“Good morning, husband,” he cooed.

“Good morning, husband,” Anders murmured, nuzzling against him, “Still feels strange to say, doesn’t it?”

“You’re welcome to call me ‘wife’ if you prefer,” Malcolm teased, lips brushing his a second time, “I  _ sort of _ played the part last night, if you think about it.”

Anders snorted, eyes still closed, “I like when you’re my wife, you look good down there.”

“In  _ that _ case,” Malcolm smirked, a hand wrapping around the healer’s waist and pulling him flush against him, “Do it again, dearest husband.”

Anders opened his eyes and raised a suggestive brow, moving on top of him, “As you command, dearest wife.” 

Malcolm snickered, adjusting himself against the pillow and letting his fingers tangle in gold, in color and value. Anders  _ was _ like gold, rare and the standard by which Malcolm measured his life. That was how it always was. There was laughter and foreheads pressed together and in between the moments of breathlessness and desire, there was so much love it ached. But it ached the right way, a way that it was meant to. They ached as they were meant to.


End file.
